His shadow lay over the rocks as he bent, ending. Why not endless till the farthest star? Darkly they are there behind this light, darkness shining in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. Me sits there with his augur's rod of ash, in borrowed sandals, by day beside a livid sea, unbeheld, in violet night, walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. I throw this ended shadow from me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Endless, would it be mine, form of my form? Who watches me here? Who ever anywhere will read these written words? Signs on a white field. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of the temple out of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Hold hard. Coloured on a flat: yes, that's right. Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I see, east, back. Ah, see now. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. Click does the trick. You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls, do you not think? Flutier. Our souls, shame-wounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more.
Ulysses, James Joyce
2 comentarios:
jajaja, no entiendo por qué el video, jajajaja, pero bueno, mi cerebro no entiende mucho todavía, estoy despertando... no manches, en inglés está mucho más denso el librito chiquito, jajajaja, algún día lo leeré en inglés, cuando no tenga hueva... ya casi termino el de calvino, pronto te lo regresaré, saludines ;)
alguien quiere ir a la playa yo lo se
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